


Care Package 1,2,3

by Feral_Fic_Writer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bestiality, Breeding, Comfort/Angst, Creative Biology, Daddy Kink, Derek is a Good Alpha, Derek is a Switch, Dubious Consent (But not for Stiles), I'm Sure There's Tags I'm Missing, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Parent/Child Incest, Praise Kink, Sex with Sentient Animals, Sheriff John is a Good Alpha Daddy, Trauma Turning, Underage Sex, Way Fluffier Than the Tags Make It Sound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Fic_Writer/pseuds/Feral_Fic_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Sheriff's wife passes, Stiles presents early as an omega. The poor pup is having "false-heats" in response to the family's loss and John just want to be a good alpha daddy for his boy. Even if that means getting Stiles a "service" dog to help his son out.</p><p>Inspired by an anonymous prompt and its response on Kinkyfics "Tumbler Ficlets 2014/2015."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Care Package I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weesageechak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weesageechak/gifts), [IcyCryos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyCryos/gifts).



> Please excuse this extensive chapter note… (And please read all the tags for this fic, because the warnings start here, right out of the gate in this AN.)
> 
> So, Anon wrote:
> 
> “I keep having this vision of the A/B/O playmating verse where the Sheriff has to deal with his Omega son Stiles and he can't find any viable Alphas. Being the good dad he is, the Sheriff goes out and buys a dog for Stiles because even though the dog isn't an Alpha it can knot his baby boy and soothe his ache. After buying the dog he painstakingly prepares Stiles and controls the dog while it mounts Stiles. Maybe Alpha Derek comes into the picture at some point and approves of the playmating.”
> 
> Sadly the Kinkyfics has removed all their stories since I first posted this, so their response to the prompt is now lost. But at the time I read it the outline of events Kinkyfics' ficlet laid out as possibility was so rich I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So that now lost work inspired this one. However, while this piece started out follows Kinkyfics' outline closely this one has become its whole own monster. 
> 
> So, this is how this is going to go… (spoiler alert)
> 
> Chapter one: Little Stiles in “false” heat with Daddy John taking care of him
> 
> Chapter two: John going out to Derek’s kennel and coming home with a dog for his needy omega 
> 
> Chapter three: John gets to know a little about Derek and there's just something about that boy.
> 
> Chapter four: After an unfortunate event at the Kennel, John has too work hard to smooth things over.
> 
> Chapter five: The Sheriff returns home with a pup for his pup. Stiles learns the joys of a knot.
> 
> Chapter six: The Sheriff brings Stiles out to Derek’s kennel to get another dog. Derek’s dogs, Derek, and Daddy John take care of Stiles.
> 
> Chapter seven: With Stiles now mated to Derek, John gets a new pup to care for (or maybe more than one).
> 
> Chapter eight: John adjusts to life without Stiles.
> 
> Chapter nine: Let's end with a joyous family reunion.
> 
> Chapter ten: A quick peek at what "happily ever after" looks like.

 

**____________________________________________________________________________**

John slid out of the cruiser with a sigh.

Exhausted from his shift, the short distance from the drive to the door read like a marathon mile. He stood, squared his shoulders. Flexed. As if this small motion could possibly be enough to shake off his weariness.

While closing the car’s door, from the corner of his eye he caught the slats of the front room blinds wink at him. Obviously Stiles, peeking out, trying to ascertain his state; John’s mouth quirked in a tired smile. He headed towards the house, the forced spring in his step leagues away from how he felt.

He’d barely cracked the front door when the scent hit him, the recognizable mix of sweet and sulphuric. Exhaling a silent curse, he pressed his forehead to the doorframe.

_Not again._

The invisible stone he carried with him constantly these days gained another ten pounds.

_This is the third time this year and we’re barely into May._

With no small reluctance, he finally pushed inside, both guilty and grateful to find the front hall empty.

As soon as he’d put his gun and cuffs safely away in the hall bureau, John slipped one of the many child "omega care" packages stashed throughout the house from a bureau drawer. He opened it and tucked its contents, a mouthguard and a pediatric plug, into his front shirt pocket.

After doing this he easily followed the scent; allowed it to lead him to Stiles in the rec room where his pup now sat on the ground in front of the sofa. Surrounded by empty juice boxes, Stiles was pretending to be engrossed in a video game.

It was a poor ruse.

If the scent and all the drink cartons hadn’t given the boy’s fevered state away, Stiles’ heat-stressed skin was so sensitive he’d dressed in nothing but one of John’s oldest t-shirts; washed so many times the fabric was almost sheer. Not to mention, the edges of three folded towels visible beneath the gown of the shirt, protecting the floor underneath him: worn carpet, older than Stiles’ tender, leaking, ten-year-old bottom.

Trained for years to capture a scene, John took all this in in an instant. He noted too, how hard his boy blinked as he struggled to keep his eyes on the screen; Stiles’ sweet, plump lower lip being mercilessly worried; bony fingers trembling as he fumbled the game’s controller.

“Stiles…”

It took no more than his name uttered from his alpha’s mouth for John’s pup to shatter.

The remote tumbled from Stiles fingers. He curled in on himself; thin arms wrapped around even bonier knees. Quiet sobs shuddered narrow shoulders while Stiles’ bare bottom began to unconsciously wiggle, seeking the unsatisfying friction from the soaked terry-cloth beneath it.

In a flash John was on the couch pulling his weeping boy into his arms. Stiles didn’t hesitate like he usually would have; instead, he grasped, clung, molded himself to his alpha’s body.

“I’m sorry, Dad… Daddy...” he hiccuped even as he unfolded himself.

Normally so determined to be “grown up,” John knew his son’s child-heats rendered him regressed and so very needy. Bent forearms pressed to his solid chest. Small hands palmed his pecs. Stiles’ fingertips flexed, kneading his uniform’s front, kitten-like and urgent.

Thin thighs splayed to straddle one of his alpha’s heavier, muscular ones. Stiles’ pelvis rocked instinctively.

“Easy, Stiles. It’s okay, Pup…” John slipped one hand under the sweat-soaked fabric of his stolen shirt, stroking his boy’s heat-fevered flesh.

The skin to skin contact sent a shiver tremoring through Stiles’ body. But under the influence of his father’s softly spoken words, the feel of a big alpha hand sliding up his spine, coming to rest in a firm scruffing clasp around the back of his neck, he drew a deep shuddering breath and stilled.

“When did this bout come on, Stiles?”

With a soft whimper, Stiles burrowed into his father’s shirt like he wanted to disappear in it. Shame blushed his cheeks as much as his fever. Still, he greedily inhaled the alpha scent he’d been starving for, struggling for words between heavy breaths.

“J-just after first recess.”

Stiles’ voice was soft and so sorry-sounding. Small hands fisted John’s shirtfront tight. Burying his face deeper into the cloth, the boy’s next words were muffled with polyblend and guilt.

“Mrs. Brandon, the playground monitor made me go inside. My teacher sent me to the nurse’s office... Mrs. McCall brought me home.”

Normally so loquacious, at this point in his fever, Stiles’ heat had rendered him remarkably concise. John would call Melissa later, get the full story. But for now, his eyes dropped and he made another visual sweep of his son.   

He saw skinned knees.

This was the first time Stiles’ heat had started away from home and the thought of what might have happened, _what could happen in the future_ , twisted his gut with new worry.

As if Stiles’ ADHD and panic attacks weren’t enough for his pup to contend with already; his mind flashed with images of Stiles being chased down and tackled on the playground by pint-sized knotheads, responding to his omega boy’s building scent without really understanding yet what it meant.

“And you didn’t think to call me?”  

Something dark and possessive had been roused within him at the sight of his pup's scrapes. It made it hard for John to hide the growl in his words.

Still, he kept his voice mellow as possible, knowing how vulnerable Stiles was in this state to any sort of alphic displeasure. His attempt to sound neutral was obviously unsuccessful though, since a low whine immediately built in his boy’s slender throat. It broke when Stiles started sobbing again.

John watched his pup’s mounting panic with concern, Stiles now barely able to get enough air to breathe, let alone speak. At least, until a big alpha hand reasserted its grip on his scruff. Only then did his boy's head lift.

Nuzzling under his father’s jaw, Stiles wet his daddy’s throat with his tears.

“I’m sorry… A-Alpha…”

John’s neck was immediately dampened further with the addition of the frantic, yet terribly tentative, beseeching kisses peppered against his stubble-roughened skin. Between these Stiles continued to apologize.

Repeatedly.

The words stuttered, his reedy voice was still mostly breathless and definitely broken.

“I- I didn’t want to bother you at work.”

“Oh, Puppy…”  

It killed John to see his son like this. He sighed and pressed his nose against Stiles burning forehead. The combined, conflicting smells of heat and shared-blood tickled his nose and he was hard pressed not to sneeze.

Never had he thought he’d find himself in this situation. He’d  agreed with Claudia not to blood test for dynamic when Stiles was born, but by the time their pup was two years old, already so boisterous, fearless, and outspoken, John was convinced their little boy was going to be an alpha. So, it was a complete shock to him when Stiles presented omega a month after his mother was buried.

Far from the first time, the doctor’s words from Stiles’ first heat exam echoed in John’s mind.

_Yes, it is abnormally early, but as you mentioned Sheriff, your pack has recently suffered a considerable loss. In a small unit, such circumstances can sometimes trigger early onset heats. However, I don’t think this is a “true heat.”_

_Usually a “false heat” like this, at this age, is caused by insecurity._

_Likely your omega just requires some “rigorous” dominance from you to be assured what remains of your pack won’t dissolve. Most often, in situations like this, once an alpha’s “stepped up” in strictness and the pack re-stabilizes, such behavior in a juvenile omega stops. True heat occurring later at a more “appropriate” age._

_Though such omegas usually end up needing very dominant mates to stay "stable." _

John still recalled the slip of the professional mask and the dark desire flaring in Dr. Harrris’ eyes when he said this. The way the other alpha’s gaze swept back before he continued, over to the table where Stiles lay naked, tranked, and trembling.

_Sometimes, however, the sort of precociousness your pup’s displaying has also been attributed to a blood-omega’s desire to comfort an alpha sire by serving as a mate replacement. A uh... "compensation heat," if you will._

_I know it’s not talked about much these days, but familial claimings in cases like that are still carried out with surprising frequency. Given your situation, despite Stiles’ age, Sheriff, I doubt anyone in town would fault you if you decided to do this._

_Though, if you did claim him, your omega’s body would force itself fertile and his next heat will be a "true" heat._

_If you don’t claim him, if it is a “replacement” heat, he’ll continue to have them. How often, I can’t say… Likely more than the usual twice a year cycle._

_Unfortunately, suppressants aren’t effective for false heats. And for an omega Stiles’ age, even if his heats were “real.” I wouldn’t recommend them. Too dangerous._

_Now, don’t look so glum, Sheriff. I can give you some literature on your other options._

John took the pamphlets home with his son. He read the literature and its “suggestions:” forced bonds, corporal punishments, gang breedings, harnesses with huge vibrating plugs. Though all legal, he wasn't a traditionalist: in his work he’d seen too clearly the results of these practices.

No, Stiles had been through enough already in his life and John wasn’t about to subject his boy to any of that. Nor did he want to see his unexpected omega weighted down with "too early" pups or a blood-related double sire - a broken, alpha lawman three times his age.

So, what he opted for, following Stiles first “false”-heat, although he had to look three towns over to find one, was to secure the omega physician Stiles saw now. Together, they’d come up with a plan that would leave Stiles’ spirit intact and his body unclaimed and _unharmed_. See Stiles through until the boy was old enough to choose his own mate.

Though difficult for both him and Stiles, so far, John had adhered to the program, attended his son’s “child-heats” as best he was able. It was the least he could do, since what his sensitive boy was suffering through, wasn’t Stiles fault, but his.

He should have noticed the signs, smelled Claudia’s cancer sooner. If he had, she might still be there.

If he’d been a better alpha, more available, more attendant, _then and now_ , there would be no Stiles alone and aching for hours, trying to take care of his alpha daddy… Suffering to show he wasn’t a burden, that he was worth keeping.

Pressed against him, Stiles uttered a soft, miserable snuffle. The sound pulled John back into the moment.

“Shhhhh… Sweetheart..”

He wasn’t normally one for endearments, but it was different during heat. _Acceptable… expected even._

The words he whispered now, so frequently held back, were as tender as the kiss he pressed to Stiles’ burning cheek. Then he rubbed Stiles' face lightly with his own, knowing that even reactive as omega skin was in this state, something about the slight burn of stubble always seemed to soothe his pup. The way Stiles fell quiet with gasped sigh at the brush of their cheeks told him he was right.

“Alpha Daddy’s not mad at you, Puppy. I just worry about you being home alone like this. And I don’t like the idea my boy’s been hurting.”

John lightly pinched Stiles’ neck once more to reassure and felt the tension fall away from the sparrow-light body atop him. Meanwhile, his other hand slipped down, seeking. Calloused fingers trailed over baby-smooth skin.

Though still pliant in his alpha's arms, Stiles wiggled a bit and whimpered. His little mouth sought and a pink tongue flicked out, butterfly-soft against his daddy’s lips.

John’s response to his son’s pheromones had sparked the moment he first cracked the door, but he was no longer a novice at this. He knew he still had some time here before he was apt to get too carried away. All alpha fluids soothed an omega in heat, saliva included, and right now his sweet, omega pup needed the comfort. So he slipped his tongue out, rested it lightly on his lips.

Eyes falling closed, John’s own building heat spiked when Stiles licked his tongue. He tasted the sweetness of the juice his pup had been drinking, mixed with the sweetness that was simply Stiles. He bit back a groan when fresh, heat-plumped lips captured and pulled his tongue into his boy’s hot, wet mouth where Stiles stroked and suckled it.

Eventually the tease was too much and John's alpha took over.

Still, gentle in his dominance, he didn’t plunder Stiles when he opened, eager and trusting. Instead, he kissed him tender and deep, alternating his attentions between his boy’s cherry-dyed lips and the agile tongue behind them. In between kisses, he murmured omega comforts. “Good boy” and “Sweet Pup” punctuated the steady rumble of approval vibrating deep in his chest.

Stiles responded to the kisses and his father’s pleased sounds like they were an opiate. Pupils blown so large, his eyes looked demon-black, until, drunk with relief and pleasure, heavy lids fluttered closed.

“Please, Alpha…

"Please Daddy...”

The hand stalled at his pup’s hip shifted down further. Tracing his son’s young body, so small in comparison to his own, for a moment John traded his sad weariness for wonder. It stunned him, he could so easily palm the entire round, butter-smooth cheek of his son’s ass. He gave the flesh in hand a light squeeze. As he’d gotten to know his omega child so much more intimately, it worried him increasingly, just how temptingly perfect it fit.

His pup’s arousal climbing higher, Stiles’ needy whimpers and a new gush of slick triggered John’s heightened alphic instincts; despite the fact the heat-sweet omega scent that enveloped him was still cut with a sharp tang that said “not quite ripe” and “offspring.”

These bitter notes brought tears to his eyes, even as the soaked slacks of his uniform between his son’s straddling thighs pinched, his cock growing impossibly hard,

Stiles was moaning steadily now. The slick crack of his ass rocked back against his alpha’s hand, trying to coax touch in where he needed it: deeper, into the center of the unrelenting itch making him miserable.

“Easy, Stiles. I got you.” John soothed as he obliged.

His hand slipped off Stiles ass and he slid it under his boy, making sure to give Stiles’ small cock a couple strokes before his fingers moved up between dripping cheeks. From this position he could easily rub from the base of Stiles small balls to his twitching pucker.

“My brave pup… You’ve been waiting so long.”

Stiles nodded his head vigorously under his alpha’s angular jaw, hair too damp to effectively tickle.

“Yes, Alpha... It hurts, Daddy.... Please....”

John didn’t like hearing his pup beg; it brought him no pleasure. So he silenced Stiles with another deep kiss. Knowing what his poor baby needed, he was going to do his best to give it to him. Stiles hiccuped, a quiet sob of relief when one of his fingers finally breeched him.

It was just the tip though.

The boy’s whole body grew taut and trembling. The waiting was obviously tortuous, but they’d talked about the need to be careful and the obedient omega in Stiles made him still.

John’s pride swelled and another heady pump of blood surged to his dick at this display of submission by his usually impatient son. Stiles looked golden like this, so focused, waiting. A true omega treasure. While he could have easily kept staring, he couldn’t allow his boy to suffer further.

Voice warm and filled with alphic husk, he granted permission at last.

“Go ahead, Puppy. Take what you need.”

It was obvious Stiles barely heard the words at this point, any more than he felt another kiss pressed to his sweaty forehead, but his body recognized the tone immediately. Narrow hips shifted as he wiggled, his whole body rocking as he began working himself onto his daddy’s thick finger.

Despite all the societal articulations of omega elasticity and resilience, John knew better. It took time for a newly-presented omega’s body to really be able to accommodate.  And Stiles’ youth and the false nature of his heat, made the situation even more precarious.

He watched carefully as Stiles slowly seated himself.

“You got enough slick going, Sweetheart?”

John asked this even though Stiles was dripping: he not only wanted Stiles to feel comfortable, but for his boy to have a sense of control here.

“You feel yourself start to go dry, you tell me. Alright.”

Head down, Stiles nodded, slightly distracted by his exertion. Even as receptive as his body believed it was, it took time for it to open. He pushed down, his young omega cunt so small, just the one finger left him panting with effort.

Catching Stiles chin, John lifted his head. He waited until golden eyes focused.

“I mean it, Pup. You have to promise to use your words.” John sealed this command with another kiss.

“Yes, A-alpha.”

At the breathless affirmation and pure trust in Stiles eyes, it was John who tremored this time.

Though he'd never thought of his son in a sexual way before these false heats started, he would be lying if he denied how increasingly erotic this part of Stiles “bouts” had become. That sweet face, flushed and shiny with exertion; the flutter of Stiles’ impossibly long lashes; the way his eyes rolled back as he lost himself in the sensations shooting through his tight little hole.

Stiles ground back now, taking his alpha deeper, the rest of his father’s large hand, meanwhile, pressed wonderfully solid against his taint. With something inside him at last, the brush of hairy knuckles on the back of his small, heat-swollen, sac,  Stiles' thin fingers loosened.

Leaving behind the rumpled khaki shirtfront, little hands rested now atop broad shoulders. Braced this way, Stiles lifted and settled himself. Finding his own particular rhythm, he began eagerly fucking his daddy’s finger.

As he did, a content omega purr burred within his small chest.

The tightness surrounding John’s single digit was exquisite. Stiles’ sweet young cunt seemed to agree because within seconds his hand was slicker yet, absolutely dripping with still-virginal smelling juices. Unable to help himself, John crooked his finger towards the front ridge of his pup’s pelvic cradle. Within a moment the tip found the seam of Stiles’ breeding canal.

During his pup’s last round it was still shut, a tight ridge of nerve-swollen flesh, but today it had opened just a tiny bit. Rubbing the pad of his finger in a circle, John tested the burgeoning channel’s entrance. Atop him, his boy gasped and shuddered. Pulling back immediately, this action was met with a light nip at his jaw and an unmistakably demanding “huff.”

“Sassy pup,” John growled back, but internally he preened at his omega son’s fire.

Built to serve, he returned his finger. His strokes grown bolder, on his lap Stiles clenched even harder around him, trembled and sighed.

Sweet, humming, and high, his boy’s sounds were so much like Claudia’s pleased noises, from back when John used to take her in their early days. His mouth suddenly went dry, the tip of his dick, even wetter. The realization of this, what he was doing, what he’d done, suddenly felt like betrayal. Something sharp twisted within his chest, constricting. Then, as if Stiles had read his thoughts, scented his distress, his pup darted in for another kiss.  

Pain dulled by eager nibbles at lips and soft licks at the corners of his mouth, John’s terrible ache was soon replaced by something more primal. It flared and flooded his core.

Momentarily freeing himself from Styles’ puppish attentions, his eyes dipped down to the front of Stiles,’ of _his_ shirt, sweat wet to near-translucence. Plumped with heat hormones, the dark buds of his little boy’s nipples strained tiny peaks against thin cotton.  

“M’ hot… Alpha…” Stiles released his daddy’s shoulders just long enough to strip the overlarge shirt off over his head.

John groaned and growled in the same breath.  

Now all eight of his boy’s nipples were clearly visible. While vestigial, leftover from when ancient omegas produced actual litters, Stiles' secondary nipples, previously indistinguishable from the moles dotting his pale torso, had grown larger in the past few months.

Enticingly so.

Each as big as a quarter now, they lined his thin sides far enough down to trace the rounded contour of sweet, little boy belly. Baby fat that had pudged out even more recently, leaving Stiles’ tummy deliciously rounded. The swell of it held both tease and promise, offering a glimpse of how beautiful it could look once properly filled.

John's inner alpha rumbled with pleasure at the thought of the young omega atop him ripening, _Just for him._ An image of Stiles, lean-limbed but swollen taut with pup, flashed in his mind and he actually felt his pupils dilate.

Slipping the hand not occupied with his boy’s hole around, John ran it down Stiles' chest and caught the nub of a puffy, nut-brown nipple between his fingers. He hadn’t done this before and the feel of it was amazing. The rouged flesh like a petal. So much softer even than the rest of his boy’s skin.

Under his fingers the tip tightened as he lightly pinched.

“Oh…”

Mouth fallen open, Stiles’ eyes were wide and wonder-filled at this new sensation. Intoxicated by his pup’s expression, John slid his broad palm across his boy’s chest to tease the other side.

“Oh… Alpha....

“Yes…”

Too young still to come wet yet, there was still no denying the spasm as Stiles climaxed just from having his nipples touched. Both Stiles' and John’s jaws dropped, Stiles' at the sensation, his alpha's in awe.

A possessive alphic growl filled the quiet room; it made Stiles giggle.

The sound of his pup’s breathless laughter only made John growl louder. Without thinking he dipped his head and nipped at Stiles’ neck. It sent the boy into another peal, cut off too soon by a gasp when another harder lovebite, lower, just to the side of Stiles’ top left nipple, made him come again.

Seeing this, John finally caught himself. He barely managed to pull back, however.

There was no denying that with each false heat they’d passed through, it was becoming progressively harder for him to remain still and just let his son use him.

John wasn’t sure how many more heats he could endure, but he wasn’t thinking that far ahead, because right now, there was nothing he wanted to do more in the world than have his mouth on his boy’s little nubs. All of them. Worrying each one with teeth and tongue until Stiles cried.

Struck by the wrongness of this thought, he tore his gaze away, only to find it then caught in the snare of his pup’s heat-drunk amber gaze.

Stiles was far too young to understand anything about the art of seduction, but damn if it seemed that way at the moment. The way he stared up from under lush lashes, sucking his kiss-swollen bottom lip so that the pearl-white of his upper front teeth peeked out.

Leaning backwards, spine curling further, Stiles' head tipped, baring his neck. Small hands found his alpha’s unoccupied one, lifted and pressed it back to his chest, seeking more touch. Hips moving all the while, his boy pussy rhythmically clenched, trying to milk the finger inside it.

“Alpha…”

Stiles' words were hazy with his climax, heavy with his want.

“It…. Aches…”

“More, Daddy…”

The act of talking clearly becoming harder by the second, he exhaled at last, “Fix me?”

“Please.”

If it weren’t for the need in his boy’s voice, John would have smiled at the euphemism Stiles had come up with to articulate what he wanted.

“No, Stiles. The doctor said no more than one finger for now.”

“Please… Please… Alpha… More…”

John had been warned to expect the likelihood that each child-heat Stiles experienced would increase in its intensity, but it was so hard to hear his pup’s innocent desire and the alpha in him wanted badly to meet his little omega’s need.

“Easy, Baby Boy, I got you…” John offered this even as he pulled away, nipples reluctantly abandoned, sliding free from his son’s sweet slickness.

At the sudden loss of all the delicious friction, Stiles couldn’t help but cry.

Somewhere between a wail and a howl, the sound broke John’s heart. It pained that his pup was so frustrated. But even on his own suppressants, John knew he had to move on now; get them both ready before he lost himself completely.

“Shhhh...I know, Puppy. Alpha Daddy’s just going to get us shifted around… Make sure you’re comfortable.”

Once he realized his daddy was fumbling with the buttons of his uniform, the Stiles siren wound down almost immediately. Quickly he added his own trembling fingers into the mix.

John had no sooner gotten his outer shirt slipped off his shoulders than Stiles roughly pulled his tee-shirt up, stripping it off to get to more alpha skin.

Wrestled free of his shirt, John gently moved Stiles off him and stood. His hands immediately sought his belt. The front of his pants tented and stained dark from both of their juices, his cock all but visibly squirmed to get out.

“Get yourself ready, Sweetheart. Show Alpha what a good omega you are.”

The words weren’t even all out of his mouth before Stiles started moving; draped himself over the padded arm of the sofa.

Rutting his chest against the soft, worn fabric, stimulating his nipples, now he knew just how good they _could_ feel, made Stiles’ sweet little ass wiggle in a way John found maddening.

But this was nothing compared to the sight when his boy reached back, each hand grabbing a cheek and pulling them open, putting his slick, little hole on display. It was breathtaking: the tiny gape in the absence the finger, the way Stiles’ rim was flushed, deep-pink and swollen, but not overstrained.

“A-Alpha…”

His boy’s presenting form was perfect and outside the very first time John saw Stiles in his wife’s arms, his son had never looked so…

“Beautiful.”

It took John a moment to realize he’d said the word out loud, but the praise set off the most glorious blush on Stiles’ neck. In seconds it cascaded, pink and lovely, halfway down his shoulders.

The clink of John’s belt and the soft sloughing of slacks drowned in the growl that filled his broad chest. Stiles answered with a lighter growl of his own. Tipped his aching ass higher, urging him on, challenging his alpha to take him.

Shoes kicked off, socks left in the legs of his trousers, John knelt naked behind his son.

His cock wept in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager. Unable to help himself, he rubbed his hands down over his boy’s body, large palms mapping, committing to memory the topography of shoulders, back, hips, ass, thighs.

Under his touch, Stiles shivered deliciously, ass beckoning in little thrusts, panting in between breathy moans.

“Please. Please. Please. Fix me alpha…”

“Shhhhhh…Puppy...”

John ran a broad thumb down the valley of Stiles’ still spread ass, caught his boy’s weeping juices.  

The urge to lick the slick, clear and thick as honey now, was all but overwhelming. He wanted to bury his face between those peach-ripe cheeks. Wanted to see how far his tongue would reach up inside that glistening, opened little furl.

Drawing deep on his resolve, instead, he pushed his thumb in. It was thicker than his finger, and although shorter, this new digit still reached far enough inside his pup’s small body he could still stroke Stiles’ most tender spots.

Thumb in his boy’s ass, palm pressed against Stiles’ balls, his fingers reached forward. John made a groove between them that caught Stiles little dick.

Unable to hold back this time, Stiles growled again, arched his back, and began rutting. Too eager in his motions, he soon slipped off his daddy’s thumb in the midst of pumping. The emptiness, so unbearable now, brought on a fresh round of tears.

“I know, Sweetheart, I know… But you’re doing so good, Stiles. Alpha Daddy’s so proud of you...”

These were the last words John uttered before he reached over to his discarded shirt with his unoccupied hand and retrieved the mouthguard and plug from his pocket. He set the plug aside. Then he pressed the guard into his mouth, even as he pressed back into Stiles.

Teeth secured, he stretched himself over his boy. A strong arm around Stiles’ thin, sweat-slick chest held him in place so he wouldn’t come off his thumb again.

Skin to skin, Stiles was a furnace The heat of him soaked in, curled around John's heart like a lazy cat. Under him, John felt his pup tremble and knew Stiles had come again just from having his alpha daddy on top of him. Humming in approval he buried his nose in his son’s soaked nape.

Christ, Stiles smelled good; Claudia’s honeysuckle was there in his pup’s signature. Just the barest bit of bitterness of "baby" and "blood" remained still, held in his scent, warning his alpha daddy off.

Like this, right now, all it would take was one bite. _One bite,_ and John knew this would fade too. Stiles would be his, the fullness of his scent untainted: shifted from “too little” and “son” to “mate” and “mine.”

His heavily weeping dick spurted a thick drip of precome at the thought even as he clenched the rubber between his teeth tighter.

Beneath his alpha's lightly furred belly, Stiles had roused again already. He pumped his little hips hard, hole clenching tight, grasping for a knot that wasn’t coming. He keened his want, words falling like broken-winged birds from his gasping mouth.

“Fix…

“Oh please….

“Fix… Alpha

“Please...

“B-bite...

At these words John tightened his grip to the point his pup couldn’t move: this was the first time that Stiles had begged for a bite.

Stiles didn’t protest being constrained, reveling in the weight his alpha atop him, the way the hand under him thrusted so rapidly now, milking him inside and out. His only action was to turn his head to the side, neck stretched in petition and submission.

“Please…

“Bite…”

What that one little word did.

Without being inside his pup, without even touching himself, John felt his balls tighten, the throb of thick blood filling his knot. He lifted up from Stiles, making sure to press a big hand high on his boy’s shoulders, scruffing him, keeping him pinned and in place. Below him him Stiles whined at the loss of comforting weight and the heat of his alpha.

With a skill that had come over the last few months, John eased his thumb from his pup’s pulsing hole. Grabbing his cock and gripping himself it took less than than six strokes for his knot to pop fully.

John roared around the guard. Pressing the tip of his furiously dark cock, so huge in comparison to his pup’s baby gape, he shot into his boy. Filled Stiles with the seed that, until a real heat, would safely soothe him. All the while though, John fought not to buck, to force himself into the sweet hole right there at the end of his dick.

 As soon as his cock stopped spilling, John picked up the plug, slathered it it their shared juices and began to work it into Stiles’ cream-filled little cunt. Usually Stiles came again just from the sensation of "hot," "wet," filling him. Today he didn't though. The thrust of this false knot, stretching him just slightly more, soon had Stiles keening. But, again,  being simply “fixed” was not enough.

“Bite…”

“Please…”

“Bond me, Daddy…

Even when Stiles' mother died, John had never heard his boy’s voice so raw. It took everything he had not to spit the guard out and comply. Instead, he pushed the plug into Stiles with far more force than usual. His pup sobbed as his eager hole swallowed it.

“Yours…Alpha”

“Make me…Daddy

“Please..”

John knew these words should freeze him in his tracks, but instead, a wave of want crashed over him. Drowning in it, on its own accord, his mouth drew down to the juncture of pale freckled shoulder and neck. He felt his tongue against the rubber, ready to push it out of the way, to claim.

Pressing closed lips hard against Stiles’ scent gland John growled ferociously. He felt the guard split between the grind of his jaws. The give was enough for him to latch on slightly. Underneath him, Stiles squeaked at the pinch of rubber-clad teeth and came hard one last time, his whole body trembling.

It took a few minutes, laying atop Stiles for John’s vision to clear. He spat the ruined guard out as he pushed up. He only hoped he hadn't ruined his son as well. A hand immediately went to the dark-purple bruise rapidly forming on his boy’s neck. Stiles shivered and whimpered at the touch.

“Oh, thank God.”

Stiles' bonding gland was swollen, obviously bruised, but not punctured. John bent down and kissed it. Kept kissing it. He only shifted his lips when Stiles turned his tear-stained face to him with a sad little kitten sound. He took his pup’s mouth tenderly. Let Stiles submissively lick into his own until his boy finally broke the contact, pulling away.

“Oh, Baby…” John sighed gathering his pup in his arms. "Alpha’s going to have to get himself a muzzle next time."

_Next time._

His stomach dropped at the thought, even as sticky twig arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist. Against him, Stiles’ temperature was dropping already. Usually after being filled and releasing so many times, his boy was rendered sleepy and content. But today Stiles was softly crying.

Nosing straight into his alpha’s scent gland, Stiles licked it. He scraped his teeth over it, worriedly, in between sobs.

John wrapped an arm around Stiles so he could stand and pull the afghan on the back of the couch down to cover soaked cushions. Then he laid down on his side, pulling Stiles with him. Once semi-settled, he laid a hand on his pup’s wet cheek, pressed their sweaty foreheads together.

“You did so good, Puppy. Apha Daddy’s so proud of you.”

It was hard watching Stiles search his eyes, harder still when they dropped away and his boy whispered in a stuttered breath.

“D-don’t want me.”

One, Two, Three...Three little words. They hit John like a sledgehammer right to the solar plexus. He barely had the air to gasp.

“What?”

Stiles stiffened in his arms. Silent. Then with the slight nudge of his head he nodded in the direction of near-black hickey at the base of his neck.

“Fuck, Stiles. No.” Even as he shook his head, John gathered his boy tighter. Hand clasping cooling scruff he gripped the back of Stile neck, pressed him to his own. “No… No…”

God he wished Claudia was here. It should have been him taken and not her anyways, he was so far out of his league here. Then he heard his lovely mate’s voice in his head. _Sometimes an omega needs more than just praise, John._ John was a modern alpha, sure, but he'd been raised by an old school pack. Still, his wife's words continued to echo in his mind.

He swallowed hard.

“Love and want are two different things, Stiles. I know it’s difficult to understand now, but you will when you’re older, Puppy.”

Voice rough with discomfort, John was happy Stiles was tucked under his jaw, freeing him from the scrutiny of his pup's ever-searching eyes. He could feel his face heat as he offered back three words in antidote to his son’s.

“I love you.”

How it was possible for Stiles to stiffen further, boggled his mind, but he did. John’s heart paced with his inner alpha. At a loss, he found himself repeating the words.

“I love you.”

His pup’s scruff gripped tighter to underscore the truth, now that it had been said, the words weren’t quite so hard to utter this time.

And they were so very true.

Whether it was the words or the fact Stiles heat fever had finally broken, his pup shivered in his embrace. John loosened one arm only long enough to fumble for his rumpled shirt. He draped it over them, making sure they kept as much skin to skin contact as possible.

“Love you, Stiles… Your Alpha Daddy loves you so much. My beautiful boy.”

John was unaware of how tight he’d become himself until he felt his pup softly begin to melt against him.

Stiles shifted, head still lowered. Bony fingers plucked lightly at the fine hairs on his father’s chest. A growling purr rumbled in John's throat at the sensation.

“Don’t want you to leave me.”

The words were so said so quietly John almost missed them, might have too, if it weren’t for the ghost of his pup’s breath on his skin.

He’d never been one to shirk the truth and their shared loss had so recently shown them that, despite one’s best intentions, there were no promises to be made when it came to staying together; regardless of how much one wanted to.

Still, John promised what he could.

“Not gonna leave if I can help it, Pup. Gonna hold on to you as long and as best I can.”

He worried this wasn’t enough.

A few moments later though, Stiles dipped his head a bit more to place a kiss just over his alpha’s heart.

“Love you too, Dad.”

Nothing more to say, they remained still under the tent of John’s shirt for several minutes. Then Stiles wiggled. His need to move coming back, he rolled over and re-situated himself as the small spoon, slender shoulders pressed to his alpha’s chest, feeling the beat of his father’s heart against his back.

They were damp, cooling, and sticky, and John could feel the rub of the plug in Stiles' bottom against his spent dick.

Stiles usually needed only one filling to arrest his child-heats, but the air hung heavy with his scent and John felt his adult, alpha body responding to the lingering pheromones. Not that his boy needed to know this.

“We’re gonna need to hit the showers soon, Kiddo.”

It seemed Stiles' penchant for submission had broken with his fever. Instead of getting up, he pushed back, pinning his alpha against the back of the couch and growled, “Five more minutes.”

John breathed a tired sigh but grinned.

"Sassy pup."

"You know it," Stiles teased back before snuggling in with a tired sigh of his own. 

Despite his arousal, John's earlier exhaustion had returned and was hitting him hard. He decided that after what they’d just been through, he could hold off for five more minutes. Wrapping his arms around Stiles, he held him close. After a minute, hardly aware he was doing it, he dropped his head and started licking at his pup’s bruised scent gland.

Stiles gave a soft whimper at first, but this quickly shifted into a quiet, content hum and then even more quickly into a light snore.

John left off his tending of Stiles' mark to gaze down on his son. So much of his mother in Stiles' sweet face, his eyes dropped down and he couldn’t help but imagine what a true mate mark would like like against his pup’s pale, mole-dotted neck. At the thought of this, while the rest of him could have dropped off to sleep as easily as Stiles had, his cock started to fill.

Rousing himself, despite his weariness and his alphic instinct to stay with his tender omega pup, John carefully extricated himself from the couch. He shifted the afghan to cover Stiles, when the boy whimpered in his sleep at the loss of heat.

John bent and whispered again into his sleeping boy’s ear.

“I love you…”

It didn’t matter if Stiles heard him this time or not, he meant it regardless. But he said it too, to remind himself what he’d told Stiles earlier about the difference between “love” and “want:” the lines were not quite as clear as he’d made it sound.

Already worrying already about his little omega's next "fever," John headed off to the shower, fearing what he’d see when he closed his eyes and emptied himself of his own heat sickness, the burn still sitting heavy in his low belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned, this is my first Teen Wolf fic. I know normally Stiles would be way more verbal than he was here. I also know he and his Dad avoid "feeling talks" at pretty much all costs. But since it's an ABO AU, I thought I could play things a little fast and loose. Hope I didn't mangle the characters too much.
> 
> Also, although this is generally understood by most FF authors/readers, just for the record, I don't condone underage sex, incest, non-con, or bestiality in real life, and still feel guilty as hell about writing it.


	2. Care Package 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so wrapped up in my world building and then John and Deaton had to have this long-ass conversation. So all you kinky kitties... You have my apologies: there's no sex this chapter.  
> Aw, well, hopefully you like a little plot with your porn.

Parrish glanced up from his desk when the Sheriff walked into the office.

John winced at the look on the younger man’s face: his deputy attempting, unsuccessfully, to keep his expression even. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time he’d come to work smelling of rambunctious, unclaimed omega.

“That bad, huh?”

Jordan coughed and his cheeks pinked slightly.  “A fresh uniform might be advisable, Sir.”

“Damn it, Parrish, this _is_ a fresh uniform!”

It was. He kept a change handy in the cruiser for more mundane intentions.  But circumstances being as they were, he'd stopped and slipped into them at the men’s room at the Texaco on his way to work. He didn't want Stiles to know he was shedding the scent his pup had been diligently marking him with all morning.

Sharing the Sheriff’s discomfort, Parrish dipped his head back down to his desk. Partly in deference to the higher alpha, but it also made the flaring of his nostrils less observable. However, even with the mandatory high-grade suppressants all law officers were required to take, Stiles’ scent was obviously affecting him.

The extent of which was made even clearer when Jordan asked without looking up from an apparently _riveting_ file, “And how old is your boy now, Sir?”

“Turned twelve last month, _you know that._ ” John answered carefully, the warning undercurrent evident in his words.

The hum Parrish offered in response was purposefully neutral. But John didn’t miss the younger man’s succeeding actions: clearing his throat, bringing a large fist just under his nose as he did in a polite effort to cover it.

Knowing he shouldn’t be taking the difficulties of his homelife out on his deputy, John heaved a heavy sigh.

“Anything burning, burgled, or dead this morning?”

“Nothing new at the moment, Sheriff,” Parrish answered from behind his still raised hand.

“Good. Try to keep in that way for the next fifteen minutes. I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’ll do my best, Sir.”

Annoyed by the gratitude in his deputy’s voice, John growled as he stalked towards the locker room.

“And open the windows; it’s damn stuffy in here.” He exclaimed mid-stride. “You guys are law officers, not hot-house flowers!”

The quiet “Yessir” and the scrape of Parrish’s chair against linoleum as he immediately rose to comply dimmed in John’s ears. He headed down the hall. His hand was on the locker room door, when he stopped. A familiar voice drifted out the open door leading into the K-9 unit’s kennels.

_Deaton._

He recalled having seen the man’s truck in the lot when he’d pulled up: the vet likely called in to check on one of their Shepherds’ paws. The dog, Duke, had cut it badly on a broken bottle a few days back, chasing a suspected burglar through an alley.

Popping his head inside the door of his canine officers’ dormitory, John told himself he was just keeping tabs on things, not that he was stalling out of any reluctance to wash off Stiles’ carefully applied claim-scent.

Duke was up on a small table. Deaton’s own dog, a massive Rottweiler, Arzhel, lay nearby. Other than this, the kennel was empty. All the other furry officers were out in the field. Both dogs remained quiet but their heads immediately swiveled over towards John when he entered. Deaton’s eyes flickered up too for just a moment before returning to the wrap he was changing.

“Morning, Alpha.” The vet’s soft, cultured voice was deferential as always.

“How many times have I told you, Alan? Sheriff is fine. John even.”

“Many,” Deaton replied without missing a beat. The omega vet tipped his head slightly to the side, an old-school display of submission so ingrained it was unconscious. He cut the tape and slipped Duke’s protective booty back on.

The shepherd wagged his long tail as John stepped up closer. Arzhel, meanwhile, remained where he lay on the floor, but kept a careful eye on things, ever-watchful of his master.

“Stitches look good and there’s no sign of infection. They’ll be ready to come out in about a week. Before you know it, Duke will be ready for duty again.”

John reached to scratch behind one of Duke’s pointed ears, watching while Deaton gathered up his things. The vet loaded up his kit and then shot a quick glance over.

“You, on the other hand...”

John’s eyes darted up in surprise.

“Seriously, Alpha. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

The vet’s dark gaze poured over him. Deaton had always seemed to see things clearer than most; a trait that had often left John uneasy. Heat filled his face when Deaton overtly sniffed. It grew hotter still with the words that followed.

“Stiles smells different.”

Anyone else, John would have immediately dressed them down for inappropriateness, but Deaton’s expression was mild, his gaze expectantly curious.

Duke moved over and John slipped up onto the table beside him, back against the wall. Suddenly it was as if everything finally caught up with him, the exhausting weight of his life. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

A resigned sigh escaped him and rather than brush the vet off, he tiredly admitted, “He’s in preheat, a _true_ heat, his Doctor said. We’ve got three days til it hits, supposedly.”

“Ah… He’s a bit on the early side.” Sixteen was the average age for a male omega’s heat.

Deaton’s voice held just the right amount of sympathy. “But you must be relieved. A true heat might even him out… Get him on a regular cycle.”

John opened his eyes and leveled them at the vet. He’d never overtly discussed his pup’s situation with Deaton.

“How do you even know about Stiles…?”

“We’ve worked together for how many years now, Alpha?” Deaton set a finger alongside his nose, silently reminding him that omegas had the most superior scenting senses of all the dynamics.

John couldn’t help but offer a bitter grin in response. But any semblance of smile was wiped from his face at the vet’s next question.

“Are you going to claim him?”

Duke sensed the change in his boss immediately and quietly jumped down from the table. It appeared he was going to sit this one out if he could help it. He slunk into his run and curled up in his bed, watchful eyes on the two humans just outside the wire.

The dog was wise to be cautious. John’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders stiffened, posture puffed. After being wrapped in the scent of his pup’s blooming fertility, the question sparked a fierce possessive pulse within him. He stared hard at Deaton, a growl building in his chest. The vet lowered his gaze, but his voice was calm.

“Many people would.”

“My kid’s only twelve, Deaton.” This time the growl was audible.

Deaton kept his submissive posture, but seemed otherwise unaffected by his agitation. Arzhel, on the other hand, sat up and gave a soft whine. Deaton settled the dog with a simple hand gesture.

“That’s a ‘no’ then?”

The vet took the continuing silence as affirmation. “So, how are you going to handle it? From your scent I doubt your system could handle any more suppressants.”

“That’s none of your business, Deaton!” There was more embarrassment in the Sheriff’s voice than ire this time. He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if his situation was so obvious to everyone.

“I’m a doctor, Alpha.”

“You’re a vet.” John corrected

Deaton shrugged at this but dropped his again eyes before adding, “And an omega.”  

Wishing he was in the showers, hidden underneath a curtain of water, John was now deeply regretting having stopped in. But he finally dipped his own head lower in defeat: truth was, he sorely needed someone to talk to and didn’t have a lot of other options.

“I don’t know what to do, Alan.” _There._ He'd finally put it out there. As an alpha, it was a terrible thing to have to admit. But with his admission, John felt the stranglehold on his chest ease fractionally.

He glanced up. There was no judgement in Deaton’s expression, just the usual maddening placidity.

“No playmates?”

Just the word _playmate_ set John rumbling.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to find these for Stiles after his first few “child-heats.” And it wasn’t just that the kids available were too much older, too rough with a pup so much their junior. Or that he got a little too jealous watching clumsy, juvenile alphas paw at his boy. Though there was a bit of all of these factors; no, what really made it difficult was…

“I tried. But all the little knotheads I set him up with said... he smelled... _funny_.”

Alan flashed a tight-lipped smile at the sheriff's description of his son’s playmate prospects. Then his face grew serious again. “Well, he has developed a rather distinct signature.”

John already knew this, but hearing Deaton say it out loud didn’t help.

Yes, Stiles didn’t have the same ultra-sweet scent most omegas shared. He’d scented this himself, underneath Stiles’ precocious body’s familial warnings. Personally, though, he’d come to love that extra little bit of spice that made Stiles bittersweet. The tinge of metal too, that seemed very much in line with his pup’s sharpness.

And what this difference in scent might have indicated, along with the onset of his pup’s false heats... Well, there was no way John was going to think on that too hard. His guilt about his son’s situation was difficult enough to carry already.

Thankfully, Deaton didn’t push the issue further but rather shifted the conversation.

“Well, you’ve must have seen him through his other bouts. Perhaps you could see him through this one too without claiming him.”

John shook his head. After the false heat where he’d bit Stiles, his boy’s body had calmed downed some. There’d been only six others in the two years since. As much as he and Stiles both hated it, he’d muzzled himself through these. And he do it again if he had too.

But with a true heat, the bite wasn’t the only issue.

“Can’t. He’ll be fertile this time.” John ran a hand through his hair. “That’s the fuck of this whole thing. Even Stiles’ omega doc says he’s still too young for suppressants, and there’s no contraceptive that won’t react negatively to his ADHD meds and the stuff he takes for anxiety.”

“I’m not big on pups having pups, Alan.”

Deaton’s head tipped to the side, this time in curiosity, not submission. “And you’ve tried _suspended swimmers_ , I take it?”

At the mention of sperm substitutes John’s face grew hot again. A pregnant pause passed and when the vet didn’t say anything, obviously waiting for an answer, he finally caved.

“Allergic.”

His mind flashed to the one time they’d tried it, the next heat following the one where he’d bit his boy. Stiles’ poor baby hole had been swollen and red for days and the rash from the reaction had stretched from tailbone to the base of his pup’s neck.

It had been awful.

“Ouch.” Deaton’s forehead creased. “But not uncommon, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I know that now.” John’s voice was rueful.

“Toys? I know it would be painful, but Stiles could weather it that way, without fluids. It’s far from ideal, but if you’re concerned about claiming...”

It struck John that their conversation had devolved into some bizarre game of twenty questions on the Stilinski family heat habits.

“I can’t believe I am actually sitting here talking to you about my son’s… uh... _health_.”

“Doctor,” Deaton reminded.

“Vet,” John stubbornly countered. His alpha started to bristle at the omega’s persistence. He was cut off mid growl by Deaton’s next words.

“It’s all just biology, John, and I really want to help you and Stiles out if I can.”

The fact that Deaton had addressed him by name and not “alpha” not only took John by surprise, but it showed just how earnest the man was. The vet’s old school manners dictated names, not dynamics, were only used in conversation with pack.

This long-withheld inclusion touched John deeply, but he still didn’t want to answer. Keeping silent however would read as rejection of what Deaton was offering him.

“I tried uh… _aides_ … with Stiles. But you know how he is. Sure he has troubling focusing on some things, but when he gets interested, he gets… Ummm.”

“Overzealous?”

“Obsessive was the word I was going to use. Thanks for being kind.”

At home now, all toys were locked up and doled out as supervised “treats.” Stiles would wreck himself otherwise. John ran his hands through his hair. There was more to it than this, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle Deaton knowing what a bad alpha he was.

“John…”

The word held both question and command in a way that only omegas seemed to be capable of. The tone was so much like Claudia’s, John felt his defenses crumble.

“It’s his first real heat, Deaton. It should be special.”

He drew a deep breath and pushed on before he lost his nerve: he’d always been better at getting confessions than giving them.

“I don’t want him to spend it alone. Besides, it wouldn’t be healthy. When I took him to the doctor this last time, she said Stiles was _touch-starved_.” John spat the word out with disgust.

Everyone knew omegas needed a certain amount of skin to skin contact to stay balanced and he’d no idea his boy had been suffering. He shook his head. He’d been so focused on restraining himself this last year, keeping the touch to a minimum both in and outside his pup’s false heats for fear of losing himself he’d been completely unaware of the harm he’d been doing.

He didn’t dare to look at Deaton after this admission. He was a failure as an alpha, what the man must think of him.

“I think you must care about your pup, so very much.”

“Wha…?”

John’s eyes flew up at Deaton’s words. _How in the hell?_ But the vet only gave him a kind and knowing smile.

“I don’t know many willing to go to all the trouble that you have, even for their own, John. You’re a good alpha.”

The words soothed, but they didn’t entirely ease John’s ache. Nor did they help his predicament.

“Might I make a suggestion, Alpha?”

The way Deaton said “alpha” this time wasn’t merely an address. His tone let John know that this was an intimate respect he was paying. John sat quiet, watching the vet pull out his wallet and remove a card from it.

John took the card from the omega’s slender fingers. It was on heavy parchment that spoke of high taste and old money. The front of the card declared in elegant font:

_Hale Hounds_

_Kennel, Training, Canine Care Packages_

 

The phone number on the front had been carefully crossed out. On the back was an email address written in labored lettering along with a name: _DEREK HALE._

“The Hales are Were-folk. They have a long history breeding some of the best _service dogs_ in the state.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

John’s incredulous question pulled a rare chuckle from the vet.

“It’s not like there isn’t a precedent for this sort of solution.”

It was true, centuries back most homes had at least one dog designated to provide “comfort” for its omega occupants. And like familial claimings, though it was not highly thought of in these “modern” times, the practice wasn’t unheard of.

“Yeah, but a dog?” The idea made John uncomfortable. This was the kind of thing alphas might “jock talk” about when they weren’t in mixed company, but to think about it actually happening… With his own pup. His discomfort increased when the idea shot a spark of arousal deep in his belly.

“It’s not as terrible as you make it sound, John.” Deaton’s face held nothing of the Sheriff’s embarrassment. “As an omega, Stiles will respond to a dog’s sperm the same as yours, but without any risk of pregnancy. A service dog will give Stiles all the tactile comfort an omega craves and the knot he needs. A good one would serve as protection too out in the world.”

Before John could protest, Deaton added. “I bet with Stiles’ anxiety issues, the dog could be registered as a regular service dog too. Your boy could probably even take it with him to classes. Just about anywhere, actually.”

“Yeah, but a dog…” John knew he was sounding like a broken record.

Having continued to pay attention to his boss’ conversation, Duke interjected with an offended bark.

The Shepherd was one of the department’s two “sentients.” Different from regular canines, sentients had almost the same intelligence as the average human.

“Nothing personal, Duke,” John shot the dog a an easy grin.

Duke rose and padded back over to him now that the mood in the room had so considerably shifted. He nudged one of his boss’ dangling calves to let him know he wasn’t holding the comment against him.

John reached down to give Duke an affectionate scratch in response, but his hand stopped mid-air at Deaton’s next words.

“Would help if I told you Hale hounds are specialized, like Duke here?”

“You mean _sentient_?”

Deaton’s face shifted in a rare display of distaste at the term. “All animals are sentient, John. But if you mean, above average… Hale hounds… Yes. Definitely.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have, but that made things different somehow.

John ran out his last objection. “I doubt there’s anyway I could afford a sent… Uh, _special dog_ for Stiles. I mean getting Duke and Daisy for the team just about broke our budget.”

“Just send an e-mail, Sheriff, and make an appointment,” Deaton remained unthwarted. “It can’t hurt to inquire.  Be sure and mention my name and I’ve no doubt Derek will be willing to work with you.”

* * *

The next day found John driving the backroads two towns over. He still couldn’t quite believe what he was doing.

His mind was only half watching the dusty road unwinding before him while the other half still struggled with what Deaton had revealed at the end of their conversation.

_“You know, my Arzhel is a Hale Hound.”_

John had tried to keep his expression neutral but found himself failing. _“You mean…”_

_“He plays himself down. It prevents people from talking and keeps both of us safer.”_

Glancing over at the Rottweiler, John had sworn the dog was smirking at him.

_“Alpha…”_

It had been hard for John to look back at Deaton. The image of the vet naked, his sweat-slicked brown skin being rocked beneath the black of Arzhel’s sleek hide had flashed in his mind. His balls had buzzed at the thought and the blood begun to build.

Finally he’d glanced up.

It had shocked him to see Deaton had unbuttoned his crisp shirt, pulled down the collar to reveal a set of vicious scars scars marring his rich skin at the base of his neck on the left. There was the hint of others peeping out on the still-covered skin of his right too. Group attack, or single frenzy, the scars had the blued hue of a broken forced-bonding.

 _“Life can be hard for early bloomers.”_ The vet’s voice had been unusually somber. _“I’ve found having Arzhel immensely helpful in being able to maintain my life as an independent omega. It seems to me you desire the same for your son.”_

Deaton had shrugged his shirt back up and buttoned it, he’d kept his head down, unwilling to meet John’s eyes. After what he’d just shared, John would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t been glad for this.

He’d slipped of the table and set a careful hand on Deaton’s left shoulder. As he’d silently left the room he’d heard Arzhel rise and both he and Duke pad over to Deaton. Then the soft shift of the vet’s trousers as he’d crouched down to let the two sentients comfort him.

 _“Consider it, John.”_ Deaton had called out behind him.

He didn’t even wait until he got home. Despite the fact it was a personal e-mail, once he’d finished his shower and was ensconced in his office he’d sent Hale Hounds his inquiry.

The crackle of static disrupted the quiet playing of the oldies station on his radio, pulling John from his reverie.

He’d made his proposal to Stiles last night, relieved and unexpectedly annoyed his pup had taken to the idea so readily. He still wished Stiles could have come with him to choose the dog.

 _I_ _f_ _we're able to afford one,_ he reminded himself.

But this close to his first heat, John didn’t dare bring his boy out. He cast his eye over to the passenger seat where, instead of his pup, a ziplocked bag held the shirt Stiles had slept in.

Pulling around a curve, John slowed his car down. Off the side of the road, beneath a canopy of green he saw the blackened remains of a charred manor house. He’d known it was coming. Derek Hale had even offered it as a landmark in the directions he’d sent. Still, seeing it lurking in the shadows, made John uneasy.

Actually this whole thing had him unsettled and the sad history of the Hales hadn’t helped in the least. Stiles wasn’t the only one with a propensity for research and after contacting Derek Hale, he’d done some checking on Hale Hounds Kennels.

Deaton had been right in stating that the Hales were Were-folk. He’d been correct in their success in the dog business as well. What he’d neglected to mention, however, was that a few years back, the Hales had run into some trouble with their local community.

It wasn’t uncommon: Were and non-Were relations historically weren’t always the best. Unfortunately, in this case, the Hale family had paid a high price for their perceived transgressions.

It took John a moment scanning the underbrush to locate the little side road that ran up alongside the ruin and wound around the back of the devastated mansion. About another mile on, down an even ruttier dirt road, the forest opened up into a small valley.

Here the landscape seemed untouched from the main property’s tragedy. The kennel barns with their crisp-green, steel siding blended in with the surrounding meadows. Drawing closer to the buildings the dirt road turned into neat grey crushed gravel. John approvingly noted the unbroken chainlink fencing for both the runs and the large well-manicured fields of canine playgrounds.

He pulled up into the kennel’s small shaded lot and got out of the car.

Movement in one of the side-yards caught his attention, and John stepped over. There was a young man, late teens most likely, out in one of the play yards surround by about six water dogs. Watching the boy wield the garden hose he held, the labradors leaping and snapping at the stream as he sprayed, the moment was so light, John held back, not wanting to intrude.

As he stood there, he couldn’t help but admire the teen’s good looks. Wet t-shirt stretched across a broad, well muscled chest, thick brows and a shadow of stubble along a strong jaw, the kid looked more like an alpha model than a kennel worker.

Watching the boy move in graceful choreography with the frolicking dogs made John think about his son: what Stiles would be like in a few years. Though his pup was already showing more height than a lot of omegas, the genetics of his dynamic would likely keep him thin and gangly. When the comparison of Stiles with this young alpha brought an uncomfortable pang of disappointment, Claudia’s ghost “tsked” in his mind. Angry with himself, John exhaled a soft sigh of agreement.

Quiet as he was being, the boy must have heard him, or, if he was Were, scented him.The kid’s dark head snapped up and the easy grin that had been on his face evaporated.  

This wasn’t John’s territory and young alphas were notoriously easy to rile. So, although he was older, rather than approach the boy he stood and waited.

The kid turned off the hose and said a few quiet words to the pack around him. The dogs seemed to take whatever he said in stride and, all but one quickly scampered over to the small in-ground wading pool the run held to continue their watery romp.

Closing the gate to the yard behind him the young man approach with a sleek black lab at his side.

“Can I help you, Sir?” the voice was definitely young alpha, but a little extra growly, as though it didn’t get used much.

John appreciated the respectful address, but then Were-folk, in his limited experience, especially old lines like the Hales, were notorious for being sticklers about good manners. So it didn’t surprise him they’d expect this from their staff.

John met the boy’s gaze and held it. The teen dropped his gaze much quicker than he expected, long-lashed green eyes going to the lab, almost as if the kid was looking for reassurance. Now that they’d established themselves, John lowered his own gaze enough to give the dog a quick admiring glance.

“I’m looking for Hale Hound's owner, Derek Hale.”

The boy looked up, hesitating before finally answering. "Well, Sir, then you've found him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments (well the nice ones) are treasured.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Oh, and a special thanks to IcyCryos, who's turned out to be a kick ass editor.


	3. Care Package 3

Staring at the boy before him, John couldn’t help but blink.

“ _You’re_ Derek Hale.”

“Yessir.”

In his research on the Hale family, Derek Hale had proven to be something of an enigma. John had found no mention of him, outside a single line declaring him the only survivor of the Hale house fire. It struck him odd at the time for such an old and established pack whose members were regularly featured amongst the society pages.

Given this, he hadn’t been sure what to expect of Deaton’s ‘contact,’ but the boy before him certainly wasn’t it.

After clearing his throat he rumbled. “You must be a Jr. Right? Where’s your father, son. I need to speak with the owner.”

The kid straightened. Voice low and strained there was no mistaking Derek’s answering growl.  “I’m Derek Hale. I’m the owner.”

Derek's body had grown even tauter; everything about his posture told John he was readying for a fight. While this response didn’t throw him, the way the younger alpha smelled sure did. There was still a good amount of space between them, but the Sheriff was downwind and the warm summer breeze suddenly wrapped him in Derek’s signature.

The usual alpha musk was there, but it was cut with a sweet, strange undertone.

The smell tickled his nose and an unexpected burst of warmth flooded John’s low belly. This heat quickly chilled when he took another subtle sniff and realized, despite the kid’s posture, the heaviest scent Derek was giving off wasn’t alphic aggression.

It was anxiety.

Before he could figure out how to respond to this there was another quiet growl. This one didn’t come from Derek. A quick glance down and John saw the dog at the kid’s side, lips curling, hackles raised, ready to protect. And it wasn’t the only one willing to step in.

While still keeping an eye on the dog, he noted back behind Derek all the animals in the run had ceased their romping. They stood in a line watching through the chainlink. Poised at the gate was one of the water dogs, clearly a sentient, no doubt prepared to nudge the latch and release the troops if needed.

Out of uniform for this meeting, John slipped his hands into worn jean pockets. He slumped out his normal military posture into a more ‘aw shucks’ stance, hoping it made him seem less threatening. He kept the alpha authority in his voice but added something paternal and hopefully not too patronizing to his tone.

“How old are you, son?”

Derek’s posture remained stiff. Green eyes met his evenly, but John could tell it was an effort.

“Old enough.”

There was the expected bristle at his question, but it was rapidly becoming clear this was all bravado. When John remained silent and continued to stare at him, Derek quickly folded. The kid’s broad shoulders rolled inwards to hunch submissively.

Once again Derek dropped his eyes down to the dog beside him before answering, “I’m eighteen, Al… Sir.”

The Hale fire had been two years ago. This meant Derek would have taken over the family business at sixteen.

_Not even out of high school yet._

Unconsciously, John shook his head in sympathy. No wonder the kid was so anxious: that much tragedy and sudden responsibility would have been difficult for a mature alpha to handle. That the boy seemed to be holding his own here at all was a marvel.

Although Derek might have dropped his gaze, his canine companion didn’t. Quiet now, but teeth still bared, the dog continued to stare hard.

“Eighteen and the owner.” John nodded slowly. “Good for you.”

Clearly not expecting this response Derek started in surprise and lifted his eyes. At his side, the Lab’s teeth disappeared although the dog continued to regard him suspiciously.

Taking a chance, John shifted attention away from Derek’s furry bodyguard and the waiting canine army to scan the well manicured grounds again. If things were as they seemed and the kid was running the place by himself... Well, outside the generally buff build of most Weres, this certainly explained his well-muscled physique.

“A lot of work for one person.”

He was fishing. It was a tactic used frequently in his work to get a sense of things while seeming conversational and not too intrusive. John was hard pressed not to smile when Derek rose to his bait.

“It is.” Derek hesitated,seeming to weigh whether or not it was safe to say more. “But I like it.”

“So it would seem. You’re clearly doing a good job with the place. From what I can see out here, anyways,” John amended.

When his eyes returned to Derek, his body had lost a little of its terrible stiffness. The kid’s ears had also grown surprisingly pink at his mild praise. his scent changed too, became less anxious and even sweeter than before. Something in this stirred his instincts and John was stunned by how much he wanted to reach out and set a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder.

Rather than acknowledge the compliment, instead, Derek just ran a nervous hand through dark hair. His face retained its solemn expression but the look in his eyes was now apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Sir… But the kennel has a general policy against drop-ins.”

John immediately noted how Derek said “ _the_ kennel” and not “ _my_.” Another strangeness for an alpha, even one so young, not to take ownership. Setting this aside, however, he carefully extended his hand.

“I do have an appointment. I’m early. We exchanged e-mails. I’m John Stilinski.”

At his name some more tension dropped from Derek’s shoulders. There was still a beat of unsurety though, an extra moment too long before Derek moved in closer and reached out to shake. The kid’s skin was warm and John felt the rough callouses of labor on Derek’s palm. A strange tingle shot through him at the contact.

Closer now, his next breath got him the best whiff of Derek’s complicated signature he’d had so far. Just like before, but stronger this time, something kindled within him. It caught him off guard. Made him want to keep holding the kid’s hand. To take his thumb and gently stroke the tanned skin beneath it.

John frowned at the impulse.

Still, in the end, it was Derek who pulled his hand away first. The realization brought a burst of heat to the sheriff’s cheeks for his lapse in alpha etiquette. Oddly, as tense as he’d been just a minute before, Derek didn’t seem put off by it.

“Sorry, I guess I was expecting you to be in uniform.” It sounded almost like the kid was teasing him, but Derek’s serious expression remained.

The heat in John’s cheeks burned a little brighter at the reminder although their correspondence had been conducted in the vaguest of terms, he’d used the station’s e-mail for his inquiry.

“No, I’m off  the clock at the moment.”

More problematic than the email was the burst of sudden regret John felt for being in his civvies. He recognized a urge to posture and prove he could protect in a way he hadn’t since courting Claudia. Experiencing this in front of another alpha, one half his age to boot, was deeply embarrassing.

If Derek noticed his sudden discomfort, he at least had the manners not to say anything. Instead, he dipped down just slightly to rub the ear of his canine shadow, clearly communicating it could ‘stand down’ completely now.

“So are you here for your department, or for yourself? You didn’t specify.” Derek’s bushy brows dipped. “Deaton either.”

Hearing Deaton had called sparked a flash of annoyance. This dissipated however, looking over at the guarded young alpha. John was quickly learning given his otherwise stoic countenance, the boy’s eyebrows were the best barometers for how the were was feeling and Derek was clearly concerned.

“No, this is personal business.” This answer seemed to relax the kid even more and the reason for this was soon explained.

“That’s good. Police work is dangerous.”

John nodded in agreement but remained quiet, waiting for Derek to continue. Once again, he couldn’t help but compare the Hale boy to his own. It wasn’t just the contrast in their alpha/omega designations. Stiles hyper, filterless, almost constant commentary stood out shockingly set against Derek’s few words, the were’s each sentence clearly weighed, honed to the bone before uttering.

After a lengthy silence, Derek finally spoke again. “I like the dogs to stay safe.”

John’s brows rose. It made sense with what the kid had lost he’d be protective; he wondered, however, if Derek had any awareness of how anguished he sounded. Again, he was strangely moved. Chest tight, blood heating.

Derek caught the look. Interpreting it as critical, rather than concerned, he quickly amended his statement. “But if a dog wants to go into law enforcement, I wouldn’t stop it. Not if it made them happy.”

The words were accompanied by another soft ruff of the lab’s head. For the first time since John arrived the dog turned and looked lovingly up at the boy. It did something to the sheriff’s heart hearing such earnest concern and the young alpha’s commitment to his animals’ happiness.

“Well, it’s not law enforcement exactly, but it is kind of a security detail.”

Derek tipped his head slightly to the side at this. The very canine gesture made the were, for the first time, seem decidedly wolfish.

“I need a uh… _companion_ for my boy.” John rubbed the back of his neck. What he was going to say would have been hard enough to admit to another alpha anyways, but the fact that Derek was so young made this whole thing even more awkward.

“My wife’s gone, so it just the two of us. My son… Well, he does alright. But he’s on his own an awful lot. What with my schedule and all. And I’d feel better if there was someone there to keep him company. Look out for him.”

As he spoke he kept his eyes on Derek. The kid’s head had straightened back up; his expression shifted from curious to thoughtful and then back to curious again.

“A regular dog could do that.”

Though it was said without inflection, John heard the unasked question in Derek’s statement. _Why do you need a sentient?_

His gut twisted uncomfortably and he chided himself for it. He dealt with the basest human behaviors on a daily basis; there was no reason why this conversation should make him so squeamish.

“Look… My son’s an omega, okay.” John winced hearing the bite in his own voice. The dog at Derek’s side pulled its ears back and its lip began to curl up into a growl again, proving in an instant how defensive he’d sounded. He fought to smooth out his tone.

“I don’t need a regular dog.”

John swallowed around the hard lump of pride caught in his throat and continued. “My boy’s twelve and he’s been having false heats for a couple years now. But his first real heat is going to hit him in a day or two. He can’t take suppressants and he’s got other issues complicating things. We need a way to deal with it.

“Deaton found out about our situation and recommended your kennel. That’s why I’m here. I need a dog that’s going to look after my pup in _every_ way. I need one of your Hale canine _care packages_.”

With every word Derek’s brow seemed to dip deeper, accordingly John’s stomach dropped. So sure his request was going to be denied, he couldn’t keep the surprise off his face when, after an interminable silence, the young alpha answered.

“Twelve, huh… That’s rough. Okay…”

“Really?”

Now it was Derek’s turn to seem surprised. “Uh… Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not really quite that easy.”

 _Of course not._ John silently sighed.

“Deaton already vouched for you… But there’s still quite a lot of paperwork to fill out. And of course, it’s entirely up to the dogs…”

John’s brows rose at that last bit. “Excuse me?”

“The dog picks you. Or in this case, your son.” Derek motioned for the sheriff to follow and moved toward the half-open, sliding barn door of the main kennel building.“You brought something of his for them to scent?”

In their e-mail exchange Derek had asked that an article of worn clothing be brought from every member of the dog’s potential pack.

“Yeah, it’s in the car.” John nodded towards his vehicle, his mind still trying to catch up. Derek must have read his look.

“I don’t believe in ownership when it comes to sentients.” For some reason saying this brought a blush to the were’s cheeks.

“Hale Hounds’ current policy is that the dog chooses who it goes with. After you sign all the contracts, we’ll take your son’s scent and expose them to it. If one of them likes him… And you… He’ll go with you. If not… Well, then you’ll have to try somewhere else.”

This was the most Derek had spoken since John had shown up and he could tell it strained the kid. It was another strangeness. Of course he’d known terse alphas before, tended to be one himself. But somehow this was different.

“Well then, I guess I’ll go get Stiles’ shirt.”

Derek cocked his head again. “Stiles?...”

John fought not to roll his eyes.“My son.” Who else would Stiles be after what they’d just been talking about?

The reason for the question became clear in a moment.

“Your son’s name is _Stiles_ Stilinski?” The young alpha was clearly smirking at how ridiculous it sounded.

“Yes. Or... Well, it’s a nickname.” Not even he could pronounce Stiles’ real name.

The sheriff cursed himself, and not for the first time, for letting Claudia name their boy. (At the time it had felt like the least he could do. Especially after his beloved omega had endured 48 hours of hard labor to bring their big-headed pup into the world).

He would have cursed Derek too for being impertinent to an elder but the kid wore his lighter expression beautifully. The way his green eyes lit up; the peek of those bunny-ish top teeth between supple lips…

It made Derek look markedly younger and alarmingly enticing. Again, John’s chest grew tight and unexpectedly, so did his jeans.

“Like I said.. I’ll get the shirt. Meet you inside.” He hardly waited for Derek’s nod before striding to his car. He sorely hoped the kid’s sensitive were nose hadn’t caught what must have been an obvious spike in his scent.

Thankfully Derek just shrugged and he and his dog disappeared into the barn. John took his time retrieving the bag with Stiles’ shirt in it. He didn’t immediately head in after Derek either. Instead, he leaned against his car and took a few minutes as he tried to get his bearings.

His orientation towards omegas had been cemented over the years but, like a lot of young alphas, he’d done a little _"a on a"_ experimentation back in his youth (though mostly with female alphas). Still, none of these playmates had ever affected him like this Hale kid did.

Maybe being caught in Stiles’ preheat funk was messing with his mind. Even as the thought came, John knew it was bogus. He stared at the kennel.

_Just what in the hell is going on here?_

* * *

Walking between the kennel’s rows, the sheriff let out a low whistle. Impressive as it had been upon entry, with each step he took, his admiration for the Hales’ canine enterprise increased.

Inside the barn was bright and clean. There was hardly the smell of dogs at all and the place was remarkably quiet, outside the hum of the fans running to keep the kennel at a comfortable temperature.

As he walked past, more than one dog ventured to the door of its run to peer curiously at him. But there was no display of the frantic energy found at most kennels: all the animals appeared completely at ease and amazingly calm.

A number of the runs’ doors stood open and empty. John figured these must belong to the pups outside. He couldn’t help but glance into each as he made his way towards the rear of the kennel. His policeman’s mind automatically cataloged everything.

While the walkway between the rows was concrete, the floor of every pen was covered with a soft but sturdy, easily-cleaned, rubberized matting. It looked both hygienic and comfortable. He made a mental note to ask Hale for the product name so he look into getting some for the station’s kennels.

As he moved further in, it was easy to tell which runs housed regular dogs and which belonged to sentients.

They all held raised nylon cots and piles of blankets for the pups to sleep on; automatic water bowls that bubbled with fresh running water; and paw activated kibble dispensers. In the “normal” dogs pens, however, the floors were scattered with regular dog toys while for the sentients’ runs, each was personalized for its occupant’s tastes.

Several kennels had flat screen tvs in them. On each a different channel played on a very low volume or showed subtitles. His eyes widened when he saw a large shepherd reclining on its cot, a specialized remote in between its paws as it flicked through the channels.

He shook his head in wonder.

Up ahead of him, Derek emerged from a run. He watched the were press his finger to a box at the latch and realized all of a sudden that it was a fingerprint lock. Eyes sweeping up and down the runs he noted all the sentients’ stalls had them.

Caught up to the young alpha, Derek answered the question on the tip of John’s tongue before he could ask it.

“It’s not ideal to have to lock them in, but it’s for their protection and, given their value, some owners demand it. Not to mention, too many of these guys are escape artists.” Derek’s eyes dipped down at the lab who’d been waiting outside the run for him.

“Right, King?”

King made a huffing sound that was likely the equivalent of a canine chuckle. Derek ruffled his head and then looked back up at John.

“Of course they’re all rigged so that in the case of a fire or an earthquake the locks will automatically release.”

Considering Derek’s expression as he offered this, John didn’t need to ask if this extra feature had been added before or after the kid had taken over the kennel. His stomach clenched tight at how traumatized Derek had been by what happened to his family, and by how vividly fresh the pain still was in the young alpha’s eyes.

Fortunately Derek turned away before the sheriff’s instinct to comfort got the best of him. He followed the boy’s gaze into the run he’d just closed. Inside John was stunned to see an actual treadmill, an afghan sentient happily loping on it.

“They’re designed to run. Before becoming housepets they were used to hunt.”  Derek didn’t look at John. “To be truly happy they need to cover at least fifty miles a day.” He kept his gaze on the hound, his face neutral, but there was something undeniably wistful in his voice.

Whatever this was dropped completely from the young alpha’s next words. Derek motioned his dark head to the back of the Kennel. “The office is this way.”

John allowed Derek to lead him, although the kid unconsciously kept dropping back, seemingly uncomfortable to walk out ahead. Just before they reached the walled in enclosure of the office, Derek paused beside an open run. He didn’t say anything but made a simple, silent hand gesture.

King, his canine shadow, gave an annoyed grunt but moved into the kennel. Not, however, before turning around and pointedly looking between the two humans.

“It’s okay. I got this King.” Clearly the dog was uncomfortable about leaving Derek alone with John. “I’ll leave your door open, so if there’s an issue you can get out. Okay?”

This seemed to comfort King, who shuffled over to his cot and climbed up with a sigh. John, on the other hand, was more than a little offended to find his character held so suspect. Still, if this was any indication of what Stiles’ companion would be like, he wasn’t about to complain.

“Protective, huh?”

Derek eyes flew to his and there was that blush again. It made John’s palms itch to cup the kid’s cheeks. The werewolf didn’t answer. Instead, he began moving towards the office again.

John didn’t know why, but he wanted Derek to keep talking. “How long have you had him?”

Derek hesitated before opening the office door. John followed him in.

“Oh… King’s a Hale hound, but he’s not part of my pack right now. We’re just hanging out while he’s being boarded here.” Searching for something on the office’s paper-strewn desk Derek fell silent again.

Eyes roaming over the office’s crowded walls, this time John allowed the quiet.  As he took in his surroundings he subtly sniffed. Derek’s heady signature was present, but within the closed space he expected this scent would have been stronger. Clearly the were didn’t spend that much time in here.

Pulling another deep breath in through his nostrils, John easily caught  the smell of another alpha, not Derek. The scent was old and faded, but still discernible.

Something about this other signature set him on edge.

He figured it must belong to the kennel’s previous manager, Peter Hale. This had probably been his office before the fire killed him. The thought was confirmed as he continued studying the walls. It also quickly became apparent that since taking over, Derek had done virtually nothing to change it.

One side of the room held shelves filled with breed book and training manuals. The other side was still covered with award ribbons and pictures and articles from dog show magazines, along with numerous training certificates proclaiming the name “Peter Hale.”

Displayed to assure Hale Hounds’ clients they were leaving their pets in the care of an accomplished professional in the field of canine husbandry, amidst all these, John’s keen eyes didn’t miss the deceased were’s conspicuously placed diplomas in political science and law.

Yeah, Peter Hale was a name John had become familiar with during his study of the Hale family. He remembered this alpha Hale been a hotshot lawyer for a time. Seen often in the company of celebrities and gangsters until some resulting ethical issues eventually caught up with him and had gotten Hale disbarred.

From what John had ascertained, Peter’s blood pack hadn’t appreciated this smear to the family’s otherwise impeccable reputation. Since he wasn’t the Hale’s lead alpha, they’d hauled his ass back home. Put him in charge of the family kennel, where the dogs weren’t the only ones on a short leash.

“Here’s the paperwork…”

John blinked at the sound of Derek’s voice. Turning his attention to the were he pulled himself back into the moment. Derek had cleared a space on the front of the desk and in the midst of it sat a thick pile of pages.

The kid hesitantly motioned for him to take a seat in one of the two stately leather chairs set in front of the heavy wood desk. Clearly intended to impress, the furniture was dark and contemporary. Still, it also struck John as slightly fussy somehow.

The look didn’t fit Derek Hale at all and the sheriff suddenly wondered again why the kid hadn’t changed it. Usually when a new alpha took over anything he/she made it a point to mark it as their own.

Leaving the question aside for now, he started to sit down, then he hesitated.

“Shouldn’t we discuss price before we get started?” Ever since his first conversation with Deaton he’d worried what the cost of a Hale hound might be and how he was going to afford it on a cop’s salary. Seeing how plush Hale’s operation was now, he was questioning if it was even worth it to fill in the forms.

About to slip into his seat across the desk, Derek had stilled as well. His bushy brows knit. “The dog will determine the price if he picks you.”

The way it was said, John wanted to clarify. “You mean the value is based on the type of dog we get?”

The kid’s natural frown deepened and he slowly shook his head. “No… The dog will let me know how much to charge you.” Ignoring the perplexed look on the sheriff’s face, he added, “and if you’re picked, we’ll work out whatever payment schedule we need to so he can go with you.”

This was nothing like the negotiations John had with other breeders when he’d acquired the station’s sentients. He couldn’t help but grunt in disbelief before realizing Hale was earnest.

Maybe being out here, seemingly isolated, with no one but dogs for company had made Derek a little bit crazy. Or maybe the kid had been loony before, kept squirreled away by the family as a nut and this was why he hadn’t been able to find out much about him.

No, that didn’t seem right. Not with how orderly things were here in the kennel; how happy and attentive the dogs were.

While John felt slightly guilty taking advantage of the kid’s eccentricities, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth if it got Stiles a sentient. So he sat down with a sigh, tossed the baggie with Stiles’ shirt in it onto the adjacent chair, picked up a pen and the first page in the pile, and set to work

* * *

It took far longer than he expected to get through the Hale Hounds’ adoption forms. John was shocked at how intimate and extensive they were. While he diligently tried to answer every question, every now and then he would stop writing to glance over at Derek.

The younger alpha had settled in front of the office’s computer and busied himself there. Derek seemed to alternate his attention between correspondence and checking the live feed of the numerous cameras placed all over the kennel and the larger grounds.

It was during one of these moments, watching him, John realized how slowly the kid read, and even more, the clumsy way the were navigated the keyboard. Not that _he_ was any terrific typist, but seeing Hale’s hunt and peck approach to e-mail was painful.

Feeling eyes on him this time, Derek looked over. “Did you have a question, Alpha Stilinski?”

The effects of being shut up in this office with the kid had been gnawing at the edge of John’s consciousness. Wrapped in the increasing thick cocoon of the were’s scent was wreaking havoc with his instincts. But the true reality of this slammed into him hearing  the title ‘alpha’ fall from the kid’s lips for the first time in Derek’s endearingly hesitant tones.

The way the boy said it sent a shiver down John’s spine and a five-second filthy fantasy flashing through his mind. For a moment he didn’t trust himself to speak. Especially since the first question to pop into his brain was _“How’d you feel about me bending you over this desk and…?”_

John coughed lightly and said lamely instead, “Uh… No. I’m just used to a lot of noise around me. Guess I just realized how quiet it is. You’d think a kennel full of dogs would be a lot louder.”

Derek gave him an unexpected half-smile and John felt like someone had just cranked the thermostat in the office up twenty degrees.

“You’re right. Not many people notice.” Now it was Derek’s turn to cough it seemed. “My al… Uncle Peter had it soundproofed when he took over.

“Not that we have much of a noise problem here. Our residents are usually really well behaved. But my al… er... Uncle had especially sensitive hearing, even for a were.

“He didn’t like being disturbed when he was working.”

It didn’t slip John’s notice the way Derek’s energy shifted at the mention of his Uncle, or how his words faltered as he spoke.

“So how are you coming with the forms, Sir?”  It was clear the kid didn’t wish to dwell on the subject. John let it drop for now.

“Getting there…” he hummed.

Derek nodded and was about to turn back on his computer when, despite the soundproofing, there was a thump on the office door. This was almost immediately followed by another. Within just a few seconds the door visibly vibrated as someone was obviously throwing some considerable weight against it repeatedly.

John looked at Derek, puzzled. Hale had frozen, seemingly in a daze of some sort. The sheriff heard him whisper “King” and whatever spell the kid had been caught in was broken. Green eyes darted to the camera feeds. Derek immediately shut the screen down and stood up.

“Excuse me, Alpha Stilinski.” Derek quickly moved out from behind the desk. “That’s just King trying to get my attention. It looks like another client has arrived early today.”

“It’s just a pick up… Shouldn’t take long.”

With all his years in the force, John knew more often than not when he was being lied to. It was an ability that frustrated Stiles to no end. Not that one needed any particular expertise to detect the bullshit here.

While Derek’s face and words were calm, he was doing a damn poor job of keeping his scent in check.

Still, young or not, and despite the strange feelings Hale seemed to stir in him, this was another alpha, in his own territory and John knew he’d be wise to respect this. Whatever was upsetting Derek, he should stay out of it unless he was invited.

“Everything alright, son?” he kept his tone casual.

At his question there was a flash of emotion in Derek’s face before the were was able to school his features. It was not the ire John expected but whatever it was, was gone too quickly for him to get a good read on it.

“Yes, sir.” Derek nodded just a little too vehemently. “Please keep filling out the forms. I’ll just get Mr. Lahey checked out and be back before you know it.”

When Derek cracked the door a cacophony of barking roiled in. Just outside the door King’s was loudest. John had the urge to get up and follow the kid, but stilled when the were looked back at him and shook his head.

After the door closed behind Derek, however, John rose from his seat. Whatever was going on out there had clearly disturbed the peace and that didn’t sit well with him. He figured he’d give the boy five minutes to resolve whatever caused the commotion. If Derek wasn’t back by then, he’d go check it out.

Unable to stay still as he waited, John paced the office. His eyes roamed over the walls again, until something caught his attention. Behind the desk were more awards and show images, but one in particular grabbed him.

Ignoring the fact he was trespassing into another alpha’s space, he moved around the desk.

John found himself staring at an article about Peter Hale’s dog showing prowess. The older Hale alpha stood in the foreground of the article’s photo with his champion. John could see the family resemblance shared by uncle and nephew in their faces. But where Derek’s eyes were open and painfully expressive, Peter Hale’s were cold and hard.

Dapperly dressed in the picture, Peter’s expression was smug. The same as they’d been in all the photos of the man John had seen. While the sheriff had never met him, he’d bet his next paycheck the alpha was an asshole.

But he’d never know since Peter Hale was dead now. Besides, it wasn’t Peter who had initially drawn him to this particular image. It was Derek.

The kid was there in the background. Considerably younger and surprisingly small, still, there was no doubt in the sheriff’s mind it was him. He’d recognize that bone structure and those brows anywhere. Despite the graininess of the photo, Derek’s troubled expression was easily legible.

Apparently it wasn’t just the fire that had given him that haunted look.

It surprised John how poorly the kid was dressed in contrast to his uncle, sporting loose sweats and an oversized hoodie. The sheriff blinked and looked closer at the photo, wondering if his unusual lust for the young alpha was making his eyes play tricks on him. He peered in closer and blinked again, trying to convince himself that the dark ring around Derek’s throat, visible at the hoodie’s open neckline, wasn’t a collar.

John shook his head and looked away, growling at how the notion made his blood run south.

Damn, what was taking Hale so long?

Glancing at his watch, he growled again, louder this time, realizing only two minutes had passed. Cursing himself and Derek both, he stepped over to the were’s computer, he tapped a few keys queuing up the camera feeds.

A simple check. If everything was okay… Then, fine. And Derek would never know he had been interfering with his business.

What he saw when the screen opened up froze him, but just for an instant.

Heedless of how it sent papers flying, John snarled and vaulted over the desk. Throwing the door open he bolted out and into the runs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been sitting on this for a bit... 2016 was so unfortunate I decided I didn't want to post anything until I had a new year and a clean slate, so to speak.
> 
> Anyway, Happy New Year and I hope you enjoy the new chapter. 
> 
> And Weesageechak, if you're out there... Thanks for the comment on Broodware in November. I really appreciated it. You're awesome. And I pretty much suck.. So, there's that.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everybody!


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